


Buttons

by sirsquidfish_thefirst



Category: Coraline - Neil Gaiman, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Coraline AU, F/M, Horror, Sherlolly - Freeform, Some Humor, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:19:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3784612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirsquidfish_thefirst/pseuds/sirsquidfish_thefirst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arsenic trioxide. </p>
<p>  It's used in colorless glass making. It's used in various electronics. It's used as a wood preservative.</p>
<p>  There's even been a use of it for the treatment of different cancers, namely leukemia.</p>
<p>  And, in the case of Sherlock Holmes, an expired version of the oxide was used to blow up Molly Hooper's flat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buttons

**Author's Note:**

> Recently, I read Neil Gaiman's wonderfully chilling book "Coraline". It's now one of my favorite books. This is the result of staying up on Tumblr much too late. It's loosely based on "Coraline". Basically a crackfic. I don't own BBC Sherlock or any of its characters. I don't own Gaiman's "Coraline" or any of its characters. Unbeta'd and unbritpicked.

Arsenic trioxide. 

It's used in colorless glass making. It's used in various electronics. It's used as a wood preservative.

There's even been a use of it for the treatment of different cancers, namely leukemia.

And, in the case of Sherlock Holmes, an expired version of the oxide was used to blow up Molly Hooper's flat.

Sherlock, first off, had left his solution on the stove to boil while he went off to bug Molly for something—she couldn't remember, something like acid reducers; something along the lines of that—and got distracted with something. Second, he didn't even realize the arsenic trioxide was _expired_ , however that happens.

Molly had been comfortably curled up on her sofa, cuddling Toby, her ginger cat ( _rodent_ , Sherlock would sometimes call him, glaring suspiciously at the cat as he patiently thumped his tail) underneath a fuzzy blanket as she read a book. Her door had suddenly bursted open, startling Molly from her thoughts as Sherlock entered, throwing his coat down on the other chair before wandering to the kitchen.

It wasn't that Molly minded Sherlock coming over; usually he did it to get away from the moronic world they lived in. Of course, he had used her flat as a bolthole after he had faked his death a few years ago, but that was a story for another day. The only thing was that he ate a lot of her food and tended to not clean up his messes, especially after performing an experiment.

After a few moments, however, Molly heard Sherlock enter the living room. She vaguely heard him ask for something like acid reducers when a particularly foul stench filled the air. Before she had even registered what was happening, Sherlock had thrown his body over hers as a deafening crash sounded from the kitchen that was accompanied by a wave of heat. It had taken a while for Molly to calm down while Sherlock tugged himself off of her, pulling her to the floor next to him (to escape the smoke and fumes) as he called the authorities.

Despairingly and hours after the incident, as workers started filtering out of the room, Molly now looked around her desolate flat, still acrid in her nose. It looked as if two-thirds of her belongings had been scorched or melted. Part of her father's old desk was burnt as well...

"Molly, I do apologize."

She whipped around. Behind her stood the man responsible for the accident. Sherlock looked uncomfortable. "I didn't realize that it was expired and that it'd react in such a way. I'll pay for as much as I can, restore what can be recovered—"

Molly held up a hand, rubbing at her temple. "Please, Sherlock. Not now," she mumbled.

Sherlock's mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to find something to say, before he promptly shut himself up and instead went stoically into the kitchen.

Her eyes followed Sherlock into the kitchen before Molly sighed and plopped onto what was left of her sofa. It creaked in weak protest under her weight. 

What was she going to do? There was no way she'd be able to find an available flat by the end of the month, much less the end of the week. Her flat was unrepairable for her standards, and she wasn't sure she'd want to wait an entire year just to move back into a problematic living space.

A heavy hand settled on her shoulder, eliciting a yelp from Molly. She looked up in slight surprise as the tension gradually eased from her form. They both exchanged glances, a silence settling.

"You startled me, Sherlock," she finally said, pursing her lips.

Smirking, he replied with a pompous, "I know," then continued in a slightly more serious matter. "You'll be staying with me until Mycroft can find you living quarters suitable to your needs. I'd honestly be surprised if he didn't find you a flat within two weeks." Sherlock chuckled at the amazed expression on Molly's face and continued. "Don't worry, he'll know what you'll expect. Now, Miss Hooper, please go and pack a bag with what you'll need for at least a three days' stay."

With furrowed brows, Molly toddled off to her bedroom in a daze. She was barely aware of what she was packing, and she had been trying to fit a shoe into a cosmetic bag when she eventually started to come from her thoughts.

Living with Sherlock sounded...intimidating. Would she be staying in his room or in John's old one, now that the army doctor had married and moved out? What if he heard her sleep talking? What if she started sleepwalking? Would Sherlock try to feed her one of his experiments, or, even worse, try to have _her_ be part of an experiment? 

Hopefully she wouldn't have any wet dreams and start groaning in her sleep. Molly blushed hard and waved the thought away.

"I suggest we get going, Molly."

A sense of sudden dread filled Molly. She wasn't very good in the prospect of chatting or even interacting with Sherlock normally. How was she going to survive living with him, even if it was only for a few days?

After a moment's hesitation, Molly turned and smiled at Sherlock as warmly as she could muster. "Sounds like a wonderful idea," she said cheerfully and side stepped around him to drift to the front door. She took a final glance around, letting out a soft breath.

The anxiety was already beginning, and Molly hadn't even stepped foot out of her decimated flat yet.  
~*~  
As it turned out, Molly did stay in John's old room. She was delighted to find a partially hairless Toby sitting on the bed when she arrived at 221B that first night, most of his fur having been singed off in the explosion.

Sherlock and Molly got along quite well. Once in a while, they'd talk about a particular fascinating article in a medical journal or about Sherlock's case of the day. He'd sometimes play the violin, and Molly would listen with a smile.

Every so often, Sherlock would come back to the flat with a bad cut or a nasty bump. Molly was the only one he seemed to trust with gauze and medicine. 

"Why'd you refuse help from the paramedics? They're more qualified at this than _I_ ever will be," Molly asked once.

"It's because I trust you the most," Sherlock had replied without any hint of hesitation.

Yes, trust was the basis of their rather strange friendship. Molly wished for more, but friendship with Sherlock was good enough for her.

For a week and a half, Molly stayed with Sherlock.

Molly gazed out of the window. It was a particularly rainy day outside. There was a black car parked outside of the flat, and Molly saw Sherlock's older brother step from the vehicle. Behind him, his assistant, Anthea ("Just Anthea. She doesn't have a last name," Molly recalled Sherlock once saying), was tapping furiously at her phone. Much to Molly's amazement, she didn't once stumble or walk into something or someone.

Moments afterwards, the knocker sounded on the front door. Sherlock was immediately beside Molly, looking out of the window with her to see who had arrived.

"Oh, for god's sake. I'll be right back, Molly."

He left in a whirlwind, Molly watching after him. Sighing, Molly went to the kitchen to make tea. Mycroft would probably want some.

Just as the kettle began to whistle, Sherlock returned with Mycroft and Anthea in tow. Molly couldn't help but listen in on the conversation as she poured water into all of the mugs.

"...she's not going to be able to stay with you forever, you know. This was just a temporary fix to the problem _you_ caused, may I add—" Mycroft's voice was interrupted suddenly.

"Yes, but of all the places nearest Bart's, you _had_ to settle for the old house?" Sherlock's voice hissed. His words dripped with venom and a hint of panic. Molly perked up. An old house? All she needed was a flat...

"Sherlock." Mycroft's voice again, slightly desperate. "It was the best we could find in a rush—"

Sherlock cut in again, this time stubbornly. "She's staying with me. I _refuse_ to let Molly stay there. The house should've been torn down and the pieces buried long ago. You remember what it was like, don't you?"

A pause. Then from Mycroft a short, "No."

"You're _lying_."

"Sherlock, you're acting childish. Leave the subject be. Molly's moving to that house."

"It's been abandoned for years—"

"Then we'll clean it up!"

"—and whatever was there before surely hasn't moved. It hasn't even been fifty years yet," Sherlock finished. Panic was rising to hysteria. "I'm _not_ going to let Molly face the dangers there. She's going to stay here."

Very quietly and refined, a feminine voice drawled from the living room. Anthea. "Why don't you two stop fighting, take a seat, and let Molly come in here and decide? She is, after all, the one who's moving. Not to mention the fact that she's been listening to this entire argument." 

Molly froze up, her cheeks heating in embarrassment. Clumsily she gathered the tea tray up and made her way into the living room. She smiled sheepishly, giving out the cups to each of the three others in the room before taking a seat.

Awkward silence filled the air until Molly cleared her throat. "So...I'm staying in a house, then," she said slowly, raising a brow.

"No."

"Yes."

Both Holmes brothers glared at each other. Molly continued nonetheless.

"Filled with dangers, I presume?" She joked.

"Absolutely, and you're going to continue your stay at 221B."

"Preposterous, it's completely safe and a comfortable living space."

This time, Mycroft and Sherlock scowled at the other.

With a small smirk, Molly sipped at her tea. Once again, quietness.

"Are you going to stay at the house, then, Miss Hooper?" Anthea questioned, not glancing up from her phone.

Molly hesitated. Sherlock said it wasn't safe, but Mycroft _had_ poured a lot of time and effort into finding her somewhere to reside more permanently...and she really did need a flat to herself.

She looked at Mycroft. "How far away from town is it?"

Mycroft smiled in satisfaction then replied with, "It's a mile from the borders of London." 

Molly paused for a moment in consideration. She could be at Bart's with good timing, really. "How fast can you clean it up and move me in?" She inquired, sparing a look towards Sherlock. His eyes widened slightly.

"Molly, _no_ —"

"You'll be moved in by tomorrow night," Mycroft interrupted loudly. "Don't worry about rent for a while. It's on Sherlock and me."

" _Mycroft, she doesn't understand what's there!_ " Sherlock roared, shooting from his chair. His teacup fell to the floor and shattered, in turn spraying tea this way and that. He was in his brother's face in an instant with his teeth bared and nostrils flaring. "She's going to be ki—"

"Sherlock, go sit down," Mycroft growled out. His eyes were alight with anger and worry. "You're just thinking too much, as usual."

Breathing heavily, his younger brother glared at Mycroft furiously. Then, as sudden as it had started, the interaction was over. Sherlock took in a shaky breath, turned around sharply, and strode to the window. He picked up his violin and began to play a quick but somber tune.

"I do apologize, Molly. Sherlock's just trying to scare you. There's absolutely nothing to worry about," Mycroft told her soothingly. "You still wish to move into the house, yes?"

Molly's breath hitched, and she glimpsed at Sherlock for a moment. He had stopped playing for a moment to listen to Molly's final answer.

This was her decision to make, not anyone else's.

Especially Sherlock's.

She looked into Mycroft's eyes and smiled warmly. "What time will you be round to pick me up?"

As soon as the words left her mouth, Sherlock promptly continued playing his violin, not seeming to care if he played notes wrong or screeched the bow across the strings. His shoulders were hunched.

When Molly went to bed that night, Sherlock was still playing.

He was playing a slow, sorrowful song.

With a chill, Molly realized he was playing the death march.  
~*~  
True to Mycroft's word, Molly was moved into the old house the very next evening.

The outside of the house (it was more like a mansion, Molly told herself) was partially covered in ivy plants. In the front path up to the house, there was a rustic stone fountain, a faun standing in the middle of the giant bowl. Had it been full, water would've poured from the faun's cornucopia it was holding.

Overgrown hedges lined the perimeter of the house. Wild rosebushes and flowers dotted the grass here and there in the giant backyard. A dust path led off into what would've been a once majestic garden had it been in bloom and been taken care of. 

On the inside, the mansion was more majestic than the outside. Long hallways led left and right into rooms and to staircases. There was a large kitchen containing new cooking utensils and such, a roomy study, a comfortable, lengthy living room, and even a ballroom. Molly was delighted to find that her father's old desk was sitting in the study. It still had the letter opener that looked like a sword. Fake rubies and diamonds decorated the golden hilt. She had many a fake sword fight with it.

Mycroft told her to go into each and every room whenever she wanted. Once every week, a cleaner would come and tidy the house for her.

There was one room, though, that had been boarded up. Mycroft said that she wasn't to go into that room ever. When asked why, he merely told her that it was because it was being remodeled; however, he looked uncomfortable and quickly changed the subject.

It didn't matter to Molly. There were loads of other places to venture to in the mansion.

A knock at the front door. Molly hurried to open it.

"Oh." It was Sherlock. Molly frowned at him. "Here to predict my death?"

Sherlock scowled at her. "Let me in, Molly," he muttered.

Rolling her eyes, Molly turned around and strode into the house. The welcoming scent of old wood and books greeted her nose in familiarity, albeit she'd only been in the house for three hours, arranging furniture and decor.

"It's very nice here," she cooed, bending down to swipe up a hammer and a nail. She gingerly tapped the nail into the wall then hung an old painting her mother had done of her when she was five on the metal. Molly smiled back at Sherlock and faced him, leaning against the wall. 

Sherlock nodded, his eyes trailing over the features of the house carefully, going over every crack and crevice. "It is, but it's full of...surprises."

"Enough with that, Sherlock. I'll be staying here as long as necessary. You're not going to change my mind about that," Molly huffed. Her eyes travelled down to the bunch of flowers in Sherlock's hand. "I'll get a vase for those. Come with me."

"They're good riddance flowers. Didn't want to see your ugly mug again, but alas," Sherlock deadpanned. Molly giggled.

"You're such a liar."

"Now, Miss Hooper, that's an outlandish accusation!" Sherlock drawled, and Molly could hear the smile in his voice.

"But it's completely true," she replied, reaching the kitchen. She retrieved a glass vase and filled it with water before placing it gingerly on the table. Sherlock slid the violets into the water. 

"It's true," he eventually agreed. They both gazed at each other with tiny smiles, a comfortable stillness blooming in the kitchen.

What seemed to be minutes later, Sherlock cleared his throat and directed his eyes elsewhere. "Right. I've got to go. I'll be checking in on you periodically. Goodbye."

He slowed to a stop at the doorway, his head bowed. "Molly. I've got a bit of a warning. Do not, for Christ's sake, go through the door. Don't do it, no matter what."

And, once again, Sherlock was gone.

Molly sighed and shook her head. The Holmeses were a mysterious family. One day, she'd find out how it all came to be.

Not today, nevertheless.

She turned to the stacks of boxes and stretched. It was going to take a while to unload her things into the house. Bart's awaited her tomorrow; Molly wished to get over half of the unpacking done that night and finish it all by the end of the week.  
~*~  
A week passed without much incident at the manor. Then two and three. Finally, a month went by, and still nothing as much as a creak on a step from the house.

Molly had to admit she felt as if she were being watched once in a while, but the feeling passed almost instantly. Overall, living at the house was amazing.

Sherlock asked her every day if she was okay at the mansion. Much to his disgruntlement, she always passed back a crystal report. Absolutely nothing strange at all had happened.

He always told her that it wasn't too late to move back to Baker Street; Molly would then point out that yes, it was a little late, as all of her belongings were at the new house. Well, new by her standards, and it was for sure a step up from what she had grown up in.

She just wished that Sherlock would stop worrying about her. It wasn't healthy, and it was a bit creepy.

John and Mary came over for dinner one night, and they did have an interesting conversation about Sherlock's recent behavior before turning to the subject of work. Mary seemed to be a great person for John to have in his life, as she gave him stability and, most importantly, happiness.

Twice Mycroft swung around to check on her, Mrs Hudson with him on one of those trips. He was relatively silent for the time he hung around, falling back to just observing, much like his brother had done. Fond memories (or terribly disturbing ones) must have lingered for him to recount.

"Pass me the chlorine dioxide, if you would, Molly."

Without diverting her gaze from the papers in front of her, Molly held out a tube of yellowish liquid that was soon grabbed by another hand. She ultimately sneaked a peek at the detective sitting at his regular seat hunched over his microscope. He was wearing a deep red shirt that wasn't quite blood colored. It was tight, as usual. God, he was fit. 

"Molly, you're staring. We talked about this," Sherlock noted.

"I can appreciate a piece of art and not _touch_ it, no?"

He laughed, and Molly felt her stomach flutter at the sound. His intelligence and lithe figure drew the attention of many women and men, primarily Molly and the people at Bart's, but the fact that he was worrying about Molly in particular was astonishing and just the slightest bit terrifying. She thought that Sherlock wasn't scared of anything.

Then again, he may just be concerned for her because she was residing in his old house. On the other hand, he had said something about her being in peril.

No, it was just a house. An old house with many memories hiding in the walls. 

It was driving her mad, trying to decide what to think.

There was only one way to settle it: to go into the abandoned room and really see what was there. 

But first...

She sucked in a breath and turned to Sherlock. "What's in the little abandoned room? I know...I know it's not remodeling," she said quietly. Her eyes briefly flickered to the Uni student nosing around the lab curiously. Sherlock had already told him off for touching the lab equipment before Molly had had the chance.

Sherlock's head snapped up, and he cast the student a furtive look before look at Molly with the same expression. "Why?" He mumbled, crossing his arms. He looked more like a five-year-old this way.

_Don't play stupid with me. I can see right through it._

Molly copied his pose and bit her tongue then returned a phrase. "Because you're lying to my face."

A scowl built up on Sherlock's face. "You've no business in there. Besides, you can't get in unless—" He suddenly stopped himself, and he shook his head. "Trust me, Molly. Don't try to get in. Don't even think about it," he snapped.

Before Sherlock could turn back around to his microscope, Molly grabbed his shoulder. "I'm going to go if you don't tell me," she warned.

The shake of his head made Molly slump back. He didn't know that she wasn't lying. "Ignore the room, and it'll clear your mind of it in a few days. Your life will be nothing short of a living hell if the door opens and you go through," he laughed grimly.

Sherlock turned back to his experiment, and nothing more was exchanged.  
~*~  
Molly stared at the heavy wooden door guarding the room beyond. All that was on it was a simple craftsman's lock keeping it shut up. The shadows playing across the walls told Molly it was nearly sunset.

Raising a hand, Molly curled it into a fist and knocked on the oak. The door whispered back a thud, and from within the room, Molly heard an echo. Must be dead bare in there, then.

Metallic scents were rising from the seemingly ancient key in her hand. It was coal black, strangely still in one piece and in pretty good condition. Her hand was beginning to sting from the key for some reason, so Molly quickly switched it over to her other hand. She had found it hanging conveniently next to the door.

Surely the key didn't fit in the lock. A lock like that had to have a newer key, not a classic one. Oh well. It was worth a shot.

She took the lock in her left hand and placed the key at the hole at the bottom of the bolt. As she expected, no matter which way she turned it, the key didn't fit into the hole.

Anything that Molly did, the door still refused to open. She tugged and pulled and cursed and kicked, and yet, the chunk of wood wouldn't budge.

"Bullshit. A door that can't open," Molly scoffed in disbelief, and sighing, she left for the kitchen. Perhaps later she'd think of a way to move the door.

If she never got it open, then it was all the same. She didn't particularly want to go against Sherlock's and Mycroft's advice, but then again, they had both bothered her to no end about the door. It'd be nice if she only caught a glimpse of what was beyond, but it'd be okay, once again, with her if it never opened. Less hazards for her, apparently.

The pathologist stirred her tea thoughtfully. It _would_ be rather nice to prove to Sherlock that there was nothing to worry about behind that door...

No. She had better things to do than obsess over a room.

Something skittering across the floor made Molly look up in surprise. She glanced around cautiously, gathering up one of the heavy medical books sitting open on her table. God, she hoped it wasn't a rat...

Then she spotted it, and she scrambled back from her chair with a shriek, her eyes widening what would've been comically to others, no doubt. What was gazing up at her was no laughing matter. 

Four sizable, inky black eyes watched Molly precariously, with a sort of intelligence about it, like it thought Molly to be a threat, but, at the same time, didn't think too much about her. The eyes were set in a large, light brown head with fangs, and all of that was settled on a body of the same color, nearly as big as small dinner plate. The legs, ringed with black and a reddish brown, were nearly a foot long each. Almost lazily, the spider moved forward a few inches towards Molly, and she stumbled away, starting to feel sick.

Very vaguely, Molly remembered reading about some sort of record-setting spider found in England a few years back. It had looked exactly the same as the one standing eerily still in front of her. As an arachnophobe, the article had made Molly's skin crawl. Now, though, Molly was ready to jump out the window screaming for help. 

She didn't remember the article saying anything about some sort of IQ it maintained. 

Again, the spider crept forward, tentatively this time, and Molly finally gathered her wits and threw the medical book at the spider. The spider was gone before the book hit the floor, its legs working furiously as it streamed from the room into the hallway beyond. Her legs buckled from underneath her, and Molly's hand came up to her mouth to stifle a sob.

Sherlock didn't mention _anything_ about giant spiders.

Oh, right. "Giant Huntsman Spider," she said faintly to herself, and she let out a minutely crazed giggle. That's what it was called. It set the record for the longest legs a spider could have. 

She had called Sherlock before she knew what she was doing. Startlingly enough, he picked up. "What is it, Molly?" He said, tinged with annoyance.

"Spiders. You didn't...say _anything_ about spiders," she moaned. Her heart was still racing, and Molly still felt as if she were going to throw up.

"Spiders tend to show up in houses, especially ones that old." So Sherlock was going to play the naive card? Fine.

Molly bristled. "It had legs a foot long, Sherlock," she growled. "I wouldn't be calling you over a regular-sized spider. What, you think that I need you to come to my rescue, to come and step on it like a knight in shining armor?" 

Sickening silence. "You know, it's awfully strange to think that you cut open dead people as a job, yet you get scared over an arachnid, which, by the way, is completely harmless. Just kill it, Molly—"

"You think I'm lying, now?" She hissed. "You worry about me seeing strange things and going into that room, asking me if I'm okay every day, and you dismiss me when I see a fucking Giant Huntsman Spider as hallucinating or over-reacting?"

This was disgusting. She called him the first time she saw something odd, and he merely brushed it off. Had he finally got over his paranoia? 

"Fear tends to warp the mind's perception. Ignore what I said about the house earlier. There's _nothing_ there to harm you. There's nothing behind that door. There's no giant spiders." He sounded exhausted all of a sudden. Molly gritted her teeth. "I was a child when I had nightmares about that house. That's all they were. Childish dreams coming back to me in a fit of despair. If you'd like to come back and live with me..."

"You can shove that offer up your arse, Sherlock Holmes. I _wasn't_ hallucinating. Don't talk to me for the rest of the week. Have a good day," Molly spat, and she hung up, fury coursing through her.

How dare he accuse her of lying when _he_ was the one who was acting immature over her moving into his old house. How _dare_ he pretend as if she was a child herself, simply reimagining things in bigger and more awful proportions...

What... _if_ she had been hallucinating? Giant spiders just don't show up randomly, and they _certainly_ don't seem to have a sense of mind. Was there something in her tea? Was she finally going mad?

Angrily, Molly wiped away her tears and stood up. She bent down and picked up her medical book from the floor where it had laid since she had thrown it. A deep breath, slow release, and relaxing of the shoulders later, Molly was cleaning up her tea mess.

It was a dream.

She despised two things, then, more than anything in the world.

One was spiders.

The other was Sherlock Holmes.

Molly wished that it wasn't like that. Alas, she had no change of mind the rest of the day.  
~*~  
_It was a bright, sunny day, not a cloud in the sky. A daughter and father pair were walking patterns into the grasses beneath their feet as they took advantage of the fair weather._

_The young girl smiled up at her father fondly, swinging their hands between them with a soft giggle now and then. He looked down at her and grinned lovingly at her, and he picked her up, carrying her over his shoulder firefighter style. She let out a shriek of joy, wriggling in his embrace._

_"Daddy, put me down!" She laughed, beating playfully at his back._

_"Oh no, I'm afraid that the spiders are going to get you if I do!" He gave her a mock fearful look, and the girl pouted._

_"Daddy..."_

_"Here they come...crawling up your little legs..." He curled his fingers and wriggled them in imitation of a spider's legs, lightly tickling her calves. Her teeth bit into her lip as she stifled a giggle._

_"...they're going to nibble your tummy..." The man adjusted the little girl in his arms so she was cuddled in between the crook of his arm and the side of his torso. He gently pinched her stomach before poking her, pulling peals of laughter from her. After they subsided, she gazed up at her father with a bright smile, cheeks flushed with enjoyment._

_"...and then, they're going to eat you, Molly!" He lifted her up and blew raspberries against her belly. Molly giggled and squirmed and shrieked, trying to bat her father's hands away._

_They gazed at each other for a moment, but Molly didn't realize that the sky was beginning to darken into an angry, purple color. The smile faded from her father's face, and he hastily put Molly down, worry lacing his features._

_"They're coming," he said faintly. The man turned to his daughter, full blown trepidation on his face. "Molly, run. Run and don't stop. Don't even look back."_

_Molly tilted her head curiously. "Why, Daddy? We were having so much fun, and I've missed you terribly—"_

_Suddenly, the man crumpled to the ground, a great shudder running through him. Thunder growled in the distance, so powerful it threw the girl to the ground with a gasp. When she finally struggled to her feet, she found her father gazing at her._

_His face was cracking, the skin slowly peeling away to reveal hundreds of millions of spiders pouring from his eye sockets, his mouth, his nose, his ears._

_That wasn't her father. That was a nightmare._

_She screamed, her eyes filling with tears. Her legs tried to move, but her body refused to budge, so instead of moving, she fell to the ground. Slowly, the monster crawled to her, arms sprouting from his torso so he had six limbs altogether. Molly couldn't move or breathe. Bile rose in her throat._

_What was left of her father reached her. He hovered over her, hundreds of what Molly had once assumed to be spiders spilling onto her. They clogged her mouth, leaving her literally speechless. She could feel them crawling down her throat, devouring her from the inside out. She choked on tears and beetles. There were so many of them, so many different colors and sizes and...and...she couldn't think._

_"I told you," the monster rasped, one of its hands wrapping around her throat. Its voice was like the chirping of a thousand bugs combined with a nail scratching chalkboard. Her hands clawed weakly at the limbs, which were slowly morphing into beetle legs. "I_ told _you to run. But you didn't listen." Its lips curled into a cruel, repulsive imitation of a smile. "You didn't listen, and now...and now I get to feed for the first time in centuries!"_

_Its mouth unhinged, and Molly saw a deep, dark oblivion in the back of its throat briefly before being swallowed whole. Sharp teeth bit into her neck, and she remembered nothing more._

Molly awoke with a gasp, tears streaming from her eyes. She hunched over in her bed as she clutched at the sides of her head. Just a nightmare, she told herself, just a nightmare...

She'd never had a nightmare like that before. Her nightmares usually didn't consist of killer beetles and a zombie version of her dad.

Shaking her head, Molly took a drink of water from the glass at her bedside then slid her glasses onto her nose to glance around the room. She shouldn't have had that cuppa before bed...

Scuttling noises made Molly leap up from bed, turn on her light, and gather up a shoe, her eyes flicking around the room frantically. If that spider was back, she was going to kill it before it knew what hit it.

The sight that greeted her eyes was nearing the giant spider incident. She took off her glasses, cleaned them, and put them back on. No, she was right. Did the house have asbestos in the walls? That could be why she was hallucinating so badly.

Three beetles were running about on the floor in a uniform line. They all seemed to be wanting to leave the room, but something held them back. They saw Molly sitting up in bed and squeaked excitedly, crawling faster. 

Without warning, the beetles shot underneath the door of her bedroom and zoomed out of sight. Did they want her to follow?

She slipped on her shoes and put her phone as well as a flashlight into her pajama pockets, adjusted her oversized t-shirt, and made her tentative way out of the bedroom. After this, she promised herself, she was going to go to John and have a check up.

It was pitch black in the hallway, as it was nearing one o'clock in the morning, so Molly had to bring out her flashlight to make her way. The beetles were waiting outside of the door for her, and as soon as she had shut her bedroom door, they scuttled off. Molly hurried after them, sweeping her flashlight back and forth.

Where they stopped made Molly hesitate, her breath hitching. The insects squeaked then squeezed underneath the door, and they didn't come back out. 

It was the room that had given Sherlock grief so many years ago, and it had given Molly trouble only a couple of weeks ago. She felt very indecisive now. The beetles had looked exactly like the ones from her dream, pouring out by the millions from her father.

At the same time, she wanted to _see_ what was behind that door and what was so bad about it. Curiosity won out in the end.

Molly observed the door for a moment. The craftsman's lock was gone, replaced by an old-fashioned bolt from long ago. It sat below the doorknob. She then glanced at the old key hanging beside the door on a hook by a string. It could probably hang around her neck...

A deep breath. Molly took the key down and fitted it into the lock. It slid in easily, and she heard the mechanisms clanking and groaning from within. With a soft grunt, she pushed the door open then quickly hung the key around her neck. She took a fleeting look about the room, not even long enough to properly take in the features, and was about to step out when the hasty pattering of many feet against the floor made Molly turn to look in surprise down the hallway. She screamed.

The giant spider was back, and it looked furious. It hissed and spat, increasing its speed towards Molly. 

At that moment, Molly had two options: go towards the spider (the other side was a dead end), or go into the room.

She let out a choked sound of terror and hurried into the room. She closed the door just before the spider could get it. It scratched and rattled the door, but after a while, the legs underneath the door disappeared, and Molly finally took in the features of the room properly, still trembling slightly. Why the spider had been so angry, she didn't know, and she didn't want to particularly find out. She shuddered at the thought.

It was, as she originally expected, empty, save for the door leading out and a smaller door about half the size of Molly at the north end of the room. She frowned, her eyes narrowing slightly. That door was wide open. It opened into a yawning darkness, most likely a hallway. It emanated a sense of dread, yet Molly felt herself being pulled to it.

_Molly. I've got a bit of a warning. Do not, for Christ's sake, go through the door. Don't do it, no matter what._

The entrance was getting closer. Molly took one last look around the room she was in. This was certainly going to be strange.

She took a step inside, then two, then three. And Molly was walking down the hallway, hunched over in the darkness with her flashlight lighting the way without knowing what laid beyond.  
~*~  
When Molly had finally stumbled out of the hallway, blinking in the light, she was panting softly, covering in a small sheen of sweat. It had been humid in the hallway and kind of smelly.

She uttered a cry of surprise as she once again took in her surroundings. She was standing in 221B, Sherlock's flat. She had, apparently, just come out of the fireplace.

Molly wrapped her arms around herself, shivering slightly. This was all too strange for her, and she saw strange every day. She should leave and go back...

"Molly! Oh darling, I was worried about you..." Familiar, strong arms wrapped around her waist that accompanied the voice. Lips pressed against her neck as a face nuzzled against the skin. "I missed you," the voice whispered, and a thrill went through Molly. Sherlock had missed her? This was new, certainly not unwelcome, but a strange feeling, nonetheless.

She smiled slightly and tugged away to face Sherlock. "You were right about that house, there's something wr—" and Molly stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening.

Everything about Sherlock was exactly the same, save for the demeanor and...and...

He had black buttons for eyes.

His smile faded as Molly's knees buckled from underneath her in fear. "Alright, Molly, you should have a seat. There we go, safe and sound. I'll make you some tea, hm?"

Molly sunk into the sofa, clutching her sides tightly. No, this was...this wasn't Baker Street. Sherlock didn't _have_ buttons for eyes. She tugged at a strand of her hair in frustration the same time the kettle whistled from the kitchen. Something compelled her to get up from the couch and hurry over to the window. She stifled a gasp.

Absolutely nothing was on the streets outside. Two cars, but that was it. No people. No carts. No animals. Nothing. It was absolutely still.

A blanket wrapped itself around her shoulders, and a cup of tea was pushed into her hands. "It's a bit different from your own world, isn't it?" Sherlock chuckled, guiding her gently over to his chair and sitting her down. He sat opposite of her in John's old chair, stirring his own tea.

She pursed her lips and gave him a suspicious look. "How do you know that I'm from a different world?" She asked slowly, quickly gazing down at her tea. 

"I didn't poison it, don't worry," he soothed, waving a hand. Only after a pause did Molly sip from her cup. "This is the Other World. I'm the Other Sherlock." He nodded at her, smirking slightly.

"Is there an Other Molly?" She asked sheepishly, still staring at her cup. The clearish tan liquid stared back.

"No. Everyone has an Other World, but there is no copy of that person here," he explained, tapping his fingers against the chair's arms. They seemed longer and bonier here. "It just...takes a while for one to find their Other World's entrance."

"What's an Other World, exactly?"

"It's a better version of your regular world. Everything you've ever dreamt of resides here. You'll never be bored or sad or disappointed here."

Molly hummed softly and bit her bottom lip. She finally set her teacup down and tilted her head at the Other Sherlock. "So there's an Other John and an Other Mycroft?"

Other Sherlock nodded. "In fact, they're here today just for you. Mary is with John, too. Figured you would feel more comfortable around her." He got up and took her cup from her then kissed her forehead tenderly. "Go and explore. My bedroom leads off to a garden. Everyone's out there. I'll be out in a mo."

Molly blushed slightly, and she hurriedly went through Sherlock's bedroom. It was much bigger in the Other World, and he had a puppy, too. It was fast asleep on his bed. She dared not touch it.

It was warm and sunny outside. True to his word, the Other Sherlock had a garden full of flowers in bloom, in different shapes and sizes and colors and scents. She languidly made her way along the brick path, and in the middle of a clearing sat a large table. At the table was who Molly assumed the Other Mary, Other John, and Other Mycroft. All three were happily chatting to each other. On the table sat a pitcher of lemonade, sandwiches, cups, and plates. Tentatively, Molly sat down in one of the chairs. Three pairs of buttons were suddenly trained on her.

"Molly, it's wonderful to see you!"

"Dear, it's been _ages_!"

"How are you, Miss Hooper?"

Molly opened her mouth to say something, her eyes widening a little at the attention, then a hand rubbed her shoulder gingerly.

"Let the poor girl have some nourishment first. She's exhausted," Other Sherlock chuckled, pressing a kiss to her scalp. Molly managed to not smile.

"Well, go on." His lips next to her ear made her jump slightly. "Help yourself."

She slowly got a plate and a sandwich then poured herself a cup of lemonade. She took a sip of her cup, and that was when the others began to serve themselves.

Oh, it was the best meal she'd had in a long time, and it was just a light lunch. The lemonade was homemade by Sherlock, and the bread for the sandwiches was Mary's work ("I bake once in a while. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's not," Other Mary shrugged, and she smiled brightly when John kissed her temple lovingly). Molly ended up eating two sandwiches.

Then she talked with the Other beings. All the while, Other Sherlock had his arm around her, breaking in to add things now and again or leaning down to kiss her cheek. 

Mycroft showed her a sample his army of artificial intelligence droids, soon to be used as workers. John showed her a glow in the dark rabbit that Mary had dubbed affectionately, "Lightning Bugs Bunny". Mary showed Molly her ability to sew clothing, giving her a new pink sundress.

The sun went down, bathing the garden in a warm darkness. Lightning Bugs Bunny hopped about the yard, giving off a soft glow. Fireflies started to come out. Molly yawned.

"I think that Molly's tired. I'm going to put her to bed. Say goodnight, darling," Other Sherlock murmured. Molly did.

Four voices replied with a cheerful bid of good sleep. It was then that Molly realized that Sherlock hadn't replied. "Who else was there that said goodnight?" She whispered, gazing up at the Other Sherlock curiously.

He laughed. "Animals can talk here as well."

Molly let out a quiet "oh" and let her eyes flutter shut. Soon she was tucked in Sherlock's bed, the puppy having moved to the living room hours ago. 

Just before she fell asleep, Other Sherlock crawled into bed next to her and spooned her from behind. 

"Blackbeard says hello, by the way. He's the puppy you saw earlier."

Molly nodded slightly, already well on her way to sleep.

"I love you."

Those were the words Molly fell asleep to, although it made her...uncomfortable.  
~*~  
She stayed in the Other World for three days.

They were the best three days of her life.

Molly sewed with Mary, talked with Mycroft, and took care of animals with John.

Sherlock was always with her. It all made her very happy, but their eyes were always unsettling. Buttons for eyes didn't seem too great.

"Molly. Earth to Molly. Come in, Molly." Other Mary's joking voice swam in between her thoughts, and Molly grinned sheepishly at her. She, Sherlock, Mycroft, and John were all looking at her expectantly from the kitchen table. She was sat on the floor playing with Blackbeard.

"Sorry. I was thinking."

They seemed to be hiding something behind them on the table. Molly cocked her head. 

"We were thinking," Mary said, smiling warmly, "we were thinking that maybe you'd want to stay with us. We'd absolutely love it," she cooed.

Sherlock nodded. He brought from behind him a silver plate. On it were two black buttons, a needle, and a spool of white thread. Molly's breath suddenly hitched in apprehension. From behind her, Blackbeard barked excitedly.

"If you'd like, Mary could sew the buttons onto you," Sherlock said softly.

All four were gazing at her hopefully. They acted as if it were a gift to be treasured; a marriage proposal supposed to be taken immediately. She looked between them to see if it was a joke.

Apparently not.

"Please, Molly? We'd _adore_ your permanent stay."

A warning bell went off in her head. Molly slowly stood, backing towards the fireplace. She could feel a cool draft from it, signaling that the hallway was still there. Perfect. She'd just have to use the light on her phone to make her way. "It's...it's so lovely to think that you want me to stay with you forever, but...I really do need to go I'llseeyounextweekbye."

The rest of her sentence rushed past her lips, and she dove into the hallway, rapidly digging out her phone and turning on the light on it. She practically ran down the hallway, her breath coming in quick pants. She was panicking. Were they following? Oh god, please no...

She glanced back. Molly could very faintly see the outlines of the Other ones, but they weren't pursuing.

Thank Christ. 

_Don't even look back._

What seemed to be an eternity later, Molly stumbled into the familiar empty room. Nothing had changed, except that it was now in the middle of the day instead of the middle of the night. She stuffed her phone into her pocket, dug out the key from her shirt, and went through the door.

On the other side waited a furious Sherlock and a concerned John.

"What the hell were you _thinking_?"

"Where have you _been_?"

The questions burst forth immediately, and Molly cowered back, a soft gasp escaping her. "Sherlock...you were right. There's something...behind that door. People with button eyes like you, but..." She trailed off, her brows furrowing. 

"Molly needs to go to a hospital right now, Sherlock. She can't just stay here and disappear for weeks at a time," John muttered to the detective. Sherlock, on the other hand, wasn't listening. He was glaring at Molly.

"You didn't even heed my warnings...you could've gotten killed...and I wouldn't have known..." Sherlock turned away sharply, his shoulders shaking as he fumed.

"Why should I have taken the warnings seriously? If you would've told me what to expect, then there was a bigger chance that I wouldn't have went through!" Molly shouted hoarsely.

Sherlock growled softly. "It was to protect you."

"Yeah sure, not saying anything is protecting me," Molly said sarcastically.

"You would've been in better hands if you would've stayed with me!" Sherlock spat.

"Bullsh—"

John grabbed Sherlock's arm abruptly and pushed him down the hall. "Christ, you two, knock it off! This is the first time you've seen each other for a while and you choose to spend it arguing?" 

A sudden cold feeling crept up Molly's spine. "John," she whispered, her voice finally quieter, "how long have I been gone?"

Sherlock gave John a worried look then swept away done the stairs. John watched after him, his expression sorrowful.

"He was so worried about you, the prat...had three panic attacks while looking for you," John said in a hushed voice. "Tried to tear apart London, he did..."

"John, _how long have I been gone_?"

He sighed, swiping a hand down his face. John looked a lot older. "You've been missing for four weeks."  
~*~  
Molly looked up from her work in surprise as a single rose was set in front of her. She looked up to see Sherlock shifting awkwardly on his feet. "This is in apology for all that time I've been rude and hateful towards you. I'm sorry. Do forgive me," he rumbled.

She blushed a little. Two beats passed. Molly wrapped her arms around Sherlock and rested her head on his chest. "Thank you. It's beautiful."

"Just like you," Sherlock said. Her blush deepened. She wasn't sure if he realized what he said, but all the same, Molly appreciated it while it lasted.

It confirmed her thoughts when Sherlock kissed the top of her head.

His kisses were warm. Other Sherlock's kisses were chilly and rather useless in her eyes.

That night, Molly invited Sherlock over for dinner. 

She kissed him before he left.

He didn't leave. He swept her into his arms and took her up to her bedroom.

They ended up on her bed in a tangle of desperate kisses, sweaty limbs, and articles of clothing.

Sherlock held Molly close as they fell asleep. Molly enjoyed his nude form against hers. He didn't leave her, and he kissed her goodnight tenderly.

"I love you so much, Molly. Don't leave me."

"I love you too. I'll stay for as long as you want me to."

She replied to him and only him. She trusted him. He trusted her.

It was wonderful.  
~*~  
Something heavy was resting on her chest as she slowly came out of sleep. She smiled faintly. Sherlock's head was resting against her. She pet it gently, but she stopped as soon as she heard a hiss and felt the texture of the hair. 

It was corse, nothing like Sherlock's silky curls.

Her eyes fluttered open. She saw four eyes gazing at her once again.

Molly screamed and tried to throw off the spider, but it sped off of her and crawled up one of the walls and rested in the corner. She looked to the other side of the bed and around the floor. Sherlock was nowhere. 

Tears threatened Molly's eyes. She should've known that he'd leave in the morning. Sherlock probably thought her an easy lay. No wonder he had sex with her last night.

Another hiss sounded from the corner. Molly looked up sharply then gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. On the wall, in some sort of inky black substance, a message was written. Below it was a pile of black buttons, exactly like the ones the Others wore.

_COME AND GET HIM._

Molly read the sentence again and again, her mind working furiously. So the Others had Sherlock. But how did that get on her wall? 

The spider seemed satisfied that Molly had now read the message. It crept down the wall and waited at her side of the bed expectantly. Molly looked down at it with a shiver. 

"You're really creeping me out."

It chirped and took a step back so Molly could slide out of bed. She quickly dressed and was still trying to put on a shoe when the spider easily slid underneath the door (even with its foot-long legs). Molly cursed under her breath and followed the arachnid down the hallway once again to the heavy door.

She unlocked it, hung the key around her neck, and made her way into the empty room without preamble. Inside, the little door was once again open, but this time, the spider was waiting patiently in front of it. A trail of blood leading into the dark doorway made Molly's head swim.

"You want me to go back in and save Sherlock by myself?" It was a little worrying that she was talking to a spider, but when people with button eyes took Sherlock, she wasn't too worried about what was considered normal anymore.

The spider let out another chirp. It then started scrambling down the corridor, leaving Molly no choice but to follow it.

The door behind her slammed shut, and she let out a shriek of surprise.

"Don't worry, miss, you have the key, it'll open right up when we come back if you unlock it!"

Molly shrieked again, now focusing her eyes and flashlight on the spider. All four of its eyes blinked.

"You can _talk_?"

It clicked its fangs in annoyance. "All animals are able to talk in the Other World, miss."

Biting back another question that it would probably deem stupid, Molly shook her head. "We need to get going. What's your name?" She murmured.

"I have no real name, but some call me Luna. Before we go to the Other World, though, you need protection."

Instead of going to the Other World's entrance, Luna took a sharp left. If it were possible, it was getting darker. More hisses and chirps were sounding up ahead.

"Please turn off your flame, Molly. It'll harm the others' eyes," Luna stated.

The entrance flooded with pitch as Molly turned her flashlight off. She shivered and tried to glance around as her eyes adjusted to the little hallway they were in.

Suddenly, the hall opened into a wide cavern, dimly lighted. There were hundreds upon thousands of spiders in the cave. Some were as small as a thumbtack, some were Luna's size, and other's were as big as labradors. In the middle of it all, there was an open space. Sat within was a spider as big as a car.

Molly's legs wobbled. She could hear the hisses slowly dying out as she passed by the many arachnids. This was close to a nightmare.

"Do not panic, miss, Sol has been expecting you! The others are merely discussing why you're here and how many different ways you can be eaten," Luna cooed. She led Molly down a staircase and to the middle of the room. It was silent.

Luna let out a series of chirps and hisses to the large spider, and it turned to face them. It had six eyes, but one of them was milky. It was black with white ringed legs.

"Hello, human," the spider said soothingly. Molly stifled a yelp. 

"Hello...?"

"I am Sol. I am the queen of the spiders. Luna is my assistant. Very trustworthy, she is." Sol let out a quiet laugh, her fangs clicking together. 

"I'm sorry to bother you, I'm about to enter the Other World. Luna said I'd need help, but...I'm not so sure what you can offer me," Molly said.

Sol tilted her head. "I have been helping for quite a while, Molly. I sent Luna to eat the beetles that were influencing your dreams. Remember that nightmare you had of your father? It changed from spiders to beetles because of Luna. Originally, there had been five beetles. She managed to eat two of them before the other three escaped. Oh yes, do keep in mind about the beetles." She clicked her fangs again. "Luna tried to stop you from going to the Other World the first time you went. Perhaps she was a little eager, hm?"

Luna quietly chirped. "Sorry, Miss Hooper."

"It's okay, Luna," Molly replied gently.

"But we are getting off of track, as the humans say. Molly needs our help to defeat the evil that is the Other World," Sol continued, her tone turning urgent. Beside Molly, Luna hissed in agreement. "Many of our own brethren have died in that toxic place. Perhaps we will finally get our revenge with Molly! That is, of course, if she accepts to go willingly and accept the gifts we bestow upon her."

All around the cave, the spiders clacked their fangs and stomped their legs excitedly. Every eye, it felt like, was on her. Molly swallowed hard and looked into the face of Sol. The eyes shone back kindly at her, and she felt a surge of courage.

"Do you accept our aid in turn for the long awaited revenge of this spider's kind?" Sol questioned.

"I do," Molly replied without hesitation. Sol turned to the spider congregation and let out one chirp. The cavern erupted with hisses of approval.

"First, you'll receive the Bite. Luna, if you would..."

Molly then felt Luna crawling up her back. The sensation made Molly dig her nails into her palms and hold in a whimper. 

"Please relax, miss, it doesn't hurt that bad if you're not tense," Luna twittered from her shoulder.

A soft nibble at Molly's neck made her stop trembling. "That's it? It wasn't so b— _ouch_!"

At her words, Luna had sunk her fangs into Molly's neck, holding them there for a moment. She then pulled back and scrambled down Molly's body to reside by her once again. Molly felt a bit woozy for a few seconds, then her mind cleared.

"The Bite is a powerful serum that this species of spiders have. It's more or less for one to see their enemies and their weaknesses. If the receiver is trustworthy enough, they survive the venom combined within the serum." Immediately, Molly's hand shot to her neck nervously. Sol laughed. "Don't worry. You'll survive. The Bite does come with a few additional things...you'll find out soon enough."

Sol stepped back as thousands of tiny spiders swarmed towards Molly. Luna hurried over to stand by Sol. "Now, you will be given new clothing. Spider armor isn't made of metal but of spider's silk, yet it is one of the hardest materials to pierce by tooth or blade." 

Climbing up and over her, the mob of spiders overtook her. Molly felt the sensation of her old clothes being ripped away, slowly and steadily being replaced by silk. The procedure was fairly swift. Spiders began to file off of Molly's body, leaving her to admire herself.

It felt like a combination of a wetsuit and a leotard. Not the most graceful description, certainly, but the texture was, of course, silky. It wasn't at all sticky. The suit was also snow white. She could move and breathe easily in it. Molly would be able to move speedily if needed, which was going to happen. 

"We're going to test it." Sol hissed softly, and a spider a little larger than Luna approached Molly from the shadows. The spider made a terrifying sound and leapt forward. It tried to sink its fangs into Molly's shoulder, but the fabric absorbed the blow. There was only a slight tear. A few of the little spiders from earlier hurried over and fixed the rip.

Molly gently prodded the site of the attack. Nothing had harmed her. "I'm going to assume that I'm not always going to be able to have spiders repair this, hm?" She muttered in awe.

"I'm afraid not, my dear. You will be given the final gift from us. Certainly you'll recognize this blade," Sol informed Molly. Once again, the swarm of spiders surged forward, not onto Molly, but onto each other, piling up until there was a mass of black and brown spots. They all cleared away, chittering and spitting, leaving behind a sword in a sheath.

The pathologist picked it up curiously. Surely this wasn't...this should be back in her father's desk.

But it was. She drew it from the sheath and held it up, studying it in astonishment. It was a bigger version of the letter opener that her father had given her, but it looked as if it held real precious stones. She eyed Sol. "I don't know how to sword fight," she managed.

The spider blinked at her. "Yes, you do," she insisted. If spiders could smile, Molly swore Sol was. "Prove it to me by fighting your copy."

Molly had enough time to turn around in confusion to block a strike made by...well, a copy of _her_. She was pushed back as the copy swung its sword again, clashing with her own. The copy was emotionless, unseeing but sensing Molly. Its appearance seemed to flicker as Molly parried its next blow.

Slowly, Molly began to hold her sword with more confidence, even landing a few strikes herself on the copy. The fight ended when Molly ran her copy through with her sword, and the copy exploded into millions of spiders, scattering away in the blink of an eye.

Panting, Molly picked up the sheath, buckled it around her waist, and slid the sword into it carefully. She beamed at Sol. "Thank you."

Sol bowed low. "It was my pleasure, human. I have but one thing to ask of you in return," she said seriously, her eyes focused on Molly. Her voice lowered as she continued. "My human soul is contained _somewhere_ in that realm. Free it. That is all I ask of you. You will forever be in friendship with spider kind if you do."

"And if I fail?"

She merely cocked her head at Molly. "You will not. I have full confidence in you."

Pursing her lips, Molly asked, "What does it look like?"

Sol hissed a laugh. "You'll know it when you see it. Now go. You haven't got much time left if you wish to save the detective."

This time, Molly was the one that bowed to Sol. "My deepest thanks to you and your court. I also thank Luna for her help," Molly cooed. 

"Good luck, miss," Luna squeaked. 

"Luna will lead you to the door and see you off. May luck be with you, and remember, when you go into the Other World, your greatest enemy is yourself. The Others can and will warp your grasp on reality. Beware." Sol clicked, and a pathway was cleared to the exit of the cave. Just outside was the hallway to the entrance into the Other World. Luna skittered up the steps, Molly close behind. The spiders in the cavern were hissing once again. 

Luna, true to Sol's word, led Molly down the dark corridor and to the Other World's door. She turned to Molly and chittered. "Once again, I bid you luck. Like Sol said, once you're in there, your greatest enemy is yourself. They will find your greatest and deepest fears and exhibit them to you to scare you. That's how they'll try to make you stay. Do not fall for it. Many before you have idiotically chosen to stay, and their souls were lost. The Bite will only grant you as much courage and will to fight or live as you have at that moment. Don't stray from your path."

Molly looked at the door and took in a deep breath. "Thank you, Luna, for your help."

The spider rubbed up against Molly's leg, much like a cat would (Molly was painfully reminded of Toby at home) and was gone.

She glared hard at the door. " _Christ_ , I hate this place."

She stepped through.  
~*~  
The scenery was the same as it had been before: 221B Baker Street. However, everything was much darker and dismal. Outside, the same angry, purple clouds from Molly's nightmare were circling ominously. 

She glanced to the kitchen. No one was there but Blackbeard. He wasn't a puppy anymore, though.

He was nailed spread-eagled to the kitchen table, his innards spilling over the sides. Flies buzzed around him. Blackbeard had either been subjected to the Other Sherlock's rage or had been used for an experiment. Possibly a combination. 

The stench was horrible. Molly gagged and covered her mouth, quickly walking past and not daring to look again.

Next, Molly walked through Sherlock's bedroom. It was completely bare. A draft blasted through it now and again from the open door that led to the garden. There were two beetles waiting at the door, and they scrambled off down the pathway, squeaked in alarm. Molly followed.

Her sword kept bouncing against her leg lightly as she walked. It was comforting to know that she had a bit of protection in this troubling world. Molly noticed that the garden, once beautiful and full to bursting with colorful blooms, was now wrinkled and dead. Some of it looked as if it had been set on fire. 

In the middle of the same clearing from the last time she was in the Other World, there was a table sat. At it was the Others: Sherlock, Mary, John, and Mycroft. They all turned and looked at Molly at the same time. Her hand strayed to the hilt of her sword.

"Have you changed your mind and come back to us?" Other Mary asked hopefully, a sweet smile gracing her lips. The smile was strained.

"Where's Sherlock?" Molly growled.

The Other Sherlock tsked gently. "I'm right here my dear. No need to be so hostile," he crooned. He rose from his seat and swept over to Molly. Sherlock nearly reached her until Molly pulled her sword, placing the tip at his throat.

"Come any nearer and I'll behead you all."

A flicker of annoyance passed Sherlock's face before his lips settled in a lazy smile. "Come now, Molly. You _know_ we love you more than what that imposter human can ever give you," purred Other Sherlock. "I will give you the truth of what he thinks of you."

He held up what looked like a plate full of melted silver. The liquid in it swirled until color came to it. Molly slid her sword back into the sheath and looked in, hesitant.

Sherlock—the _real_ Sherlock—was sitting rigidly in his chair back at Baker Street. He sighed dramatically. "Hell, Molly sure was a good lay, but I'll _never_ be able to love her properly. Oh well. Other Sherlock and his friends will take care of Molly very nicely." He went silent and glanced right at Molly. She stifled a gasp. Tears were streaming down his face, and his head was tilted at an unnatural angle. "Stay with him, Molly," he said in a monotone voice.

Then Other Sherlock was pulling the plate away. Molly was breathing hard.

"See, even Sherlock wants you to stay with us," he soothed. 

Molly was shaking in fury and fear, not for herself, but for Sherlock. "I ask you again. _Where is the real Sherlock_?" She snarled.

Other Sherlock merely shrugged. "He is out of your reach."

She turned around, about to go back into the house to search, when she found the other three Others standing in her way. The pathologist stifled a yelp.

John was the first to speak. He was holding the same platter with the buttons and thread. "Please stay, Molly." His voice was as flat as real Sherlock's voice from the vision. "Mary would be glad to give you the eyes. She'll sew them on. It doesn't hurt but for a moment."

Mary stepped forward, cocking her head and grinning widely. Too widely. "Yes, we'll all love you so much. You'll be treated like a queen," she droned.

Mycroft was last. He surveyed her with his cold, coal eyes. "Other Sherlock will worship your body like real Sherlock could never do."

Other Sherlock's hands were suddenly on her shoulders, his lips brushing her ear. "Go on, Molly. Say yes. You'll get anything and everything you've ever wanted here. I'll love you like you've never been before."

Unexpectedly, Molly found herself at a hitch. Maybe she should stay...she could deal with the pain of the button eyes if it meant to be loved...

Searing hot pain erupted in her neck, and she gasped. It was the site of the Bite. The discomfort made her mind clear, and she saw two beetles, each with a white button marking on their shells, crawling around her chest. Scowling, she brushed both of them off and stomped on them. Molly turned to Other Sherlock, who had froze up when she stepped on the bugs.

"Get away from me. I'm not staying here ever again," she said coldly.

Sherlock sneered. "You're saying no to having the world in the palm of your insignificant hand?"

"Yes."

Thunder shook the ground, and she was thrown to the ground, which began to spin. Molly screamed.

"You've made a grave mistake, refusing me what I want. I _always_ get what I want. But now, we're going to play a few games. If you survive, you get to go back home with your precious detective. Don't expect it."

A blow was administered to the back of Molly's head, and night seemed to swallow her whole.  
~*~  
Something poked her in the side. Molly groaned.

"Toby, quit it. I don't...have work today."

A short sigh made Molly sit up and look around in unease. She seemed to be in a small room, entirely bare. In front of her sat a girl of about fifteen. She had slick black hair, coffee skin, and dark brown eyes. She wore a dirty shirt and trousers as well as an expression of impatience. 

"It's about time you woke up. God, you're a heavy sleeper. You're not drunk, are you?" She waved her hand in front of Molly's face, and she caught it with a frown.

"Who are you?"

The girl grinned. "People call me Sunny, but my real name is Alli."

Molly hummed. "I'm Molly. Where are we?"

"In a painting. The Others are building something for you. Surprisingly, they didn't take your sword."

Alli was right. Her sword was still at her hip. She felt minutely better about the situation. "That still doesn't explain why we're in a painting."

"We're in the Other World. What do you expect?" Alli snapped.

Molly was about to reply when the room shook. Alli gasped and grabbed for a wall.

"Molly, you'll be leaving in about one minute. They're going to challenge you to a game of brains and brawn. I'm going to come with you. I'll give you advice in exchange for freedom," the girl rattled off. 

Molly watched as Alli began to shrink. In her place soon was a spider about the size of a toy car. 

It all clicked together. "Wait...Sunny...spiders...Sol's human counterpart," she breathed to herself. The spider quickly ran up Molly's leg and hid in her hair close to her ear.

Tremors shook the room, and Molly was once again pitched onto her belly. Her surroundings had changed when she looked up.

She seemed to be in some sort of warehouse. Lights flickered overhead, illuminating cold concrete below. At the other side stood a figure.

"Oh, Molly, you should've said yes," Other Mary cooed. The figure's lips weren't moving, though Molly knew it was Mary. "I don't want to have to hurt you, but it's Master's orders."

The pathologist hastily got to her feet and drew her sword. Mary was beginning to limp towards Molly. Her leg was twisted at a sickening angle, and her smile was much too big now. Her cheeks were split and bloodied. "You can just say yes and not fight. It would be so much easier for both of us."

Molly scowled. "You're sick," she spat.

Mary giggled hollowly. "Am I? Or is it actually your little brain? You experience death every day, yet you're more scared of spiders. Amusing."

Her body swelled and burst with a blood-curdling scream. Spiders poured from her sides, her eyes, her mouth...arms spouted from her torso, and she began to crawl towards Molly, laughing gleefully while the snarls and clicking of the spiders filled the room. 

_I can't fight this with a sword._

"Yes, you can," hissed a high voice in her ear. That was Alli. "She's still solid. Look, they're not spiders, alright? They're _beetles_."

Mary was getting closer, now walking like a twisted sort of insect. "Don't fight me, sweetheart," Mary warned in a saccharine tone.

Molly started off towards Mary, stepping on beetles as she went. She relished in the crunches and slight flinches of the monster. "I tend to not follow instructions."

Beetles were flitting past Molly by the hundreds. She kept going. "I like my Mary much, much better."

Other Mary crouched and leapt towards Molly, her jaw unhinging. Molly glimpsed a deep black at the back of her throat.

"That was your final mistake, dear," Molly grunted, and, yelling, she ran her sword into Mary's mouth. It went through the back of her head.

For a moment, nothing happened. Molly pulled her sword from Mary just as she screeched and exploded into black beetles. They poured over the concrete and ran towards the door Mary had been standing at. An unsettling silence filled the room, only broken by the door swinging open. Molly breathed out.

"One down," she muttered to herself as she stepped through the door.  
~*~  
John was waiting for her on the other side. He smiled at her warmly. His buttons glinted menacingly. "You've killed my wife, I see."

Molly shook her head. "No. I killed a monster," she retorted. She then looked around.

They were in what Molly realized as the morgue from Bart's. John was standing in front of the door.

He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Other Sherlock wants you killed. I plan on doing that," he said quietly.

As expected, the door behind Molly was gone. She turned back to John, who smirked.

"But I believe in fair games," he continued casually, picking a beetle from his hair. John examined it before popping it into his mouth and swallowing it. 

"So...I'll give you a riddle. If you answer correctly, you'll get to kill me and pass. No harm, no foul done to you. Answer wrong, and I get to sew the buttons onto your eyes and kill you. I'll even give you three tries." A shiver ran through Molly; still, she straightened her shoulders.

"Have we got a deal, Miss Hooper?"

There was no point in trying to fight him on it. "Fine. Shake on it."

They shook on it. 

"I can repeat it as many times as you wish, Molly."

"Tell it to me," she demanded, crossing her arms.

Other John cleared his throat. "When you have me, you feel like sharing me. But, if you do share me, you don't have me. What am I?"

Molly frowned. That was a little...tough. "Repeat it."

He did. Molly furrowed her brows and swallowed hard.

"Happiness...?"

John stretched languidly and rested against the counter. "No. Two more guesses."

Molly swore under her breath. She replayed the riddle in her head, her eyes flickering to John now and then. He merely smiled at her.

"Time," she blurted.

"Good one, but I'm afraid not. One guess remaining."

Gritting her teeth, Molly began to pace the room. "You didn't say anything against hints. Give me a hint," she ordered, staring at him with narrowed eyes.

"That's not how it—"

" _Hint_ ," Molly snarled. Other John opened and closed his mouth a few times before responding with a furious expression.

"You and many others have _dozens_ of them. Your Sherlock and Mary especially."

Dozens? Possibly he was referring to eggs. No, Sherlock didn't like eggs. He did, however, hide a lot of things from her...

Wait. Her eyes widened slightly in realization. "Secrets!" She cried triumphantly.

"Damn. Master's going to be upset," John sighed. He slid off of the table, fell to his knees, and bowed his head.

Molly approached him and raised her sword. He grinned.

"Mary and Sherlock love hiding things. Keep it in mind."

Her sword bit through John's neck, and, like Mary, he dissolved into a multitude of beetles, which all scuttled to the morgue doors. They banged open, and Molly hurried towards them.

That riddle must have tested her fear of failure. Mary had tested her fear of strange things. 

One was left now.

Oblivion.  
~*~  
"Lovely seeing you, Molly." Other Sherlock was standing at the edge of Bart's roof. At his feet laid the body of Mycroft.

"You've killed the Watsons. I've already beat you to Mycroft," he drawled. His head tilted down to where his brother lay, and the body crumbled to not insects but dust. Sherlock turned to face her and took a step forward. "The real John isn't so much of a coward."

"The real Sherlock isn't so much of an asshole."

Other Sherlock chuckled. "Language, Molly. My, my."

Molly took a step forward, touching his chest with the tip of her sword. "Where's Sherlock? The real one," she added as the Other's mouth opened.

"Safely out of your reach. You won't be seeing him any time soon," he laughed.

Red flooded Molly's vision. Without thinking, she slashed her blade across Sherlock's face and down his chest. 

The Other Sherlock looked at Molly, pure hatred on his features. Black, inky liquid oozed from his wounds. "Fine. Want to be that way?" He uttered. His size was beginning to double, and that was when Molly came to see that black beetles were starting to crawl around and up him. 

"You see, Molly," his voice was horrendous now, sounding as rough as a knife across concrete, "I don't very much appreciate disrespect. Every other one before you loved me. I got bored of them and threw them away. They were mainly children. They weren't interesting."

"You're sick," Molly snarled. He ignored her.

"Then Sherlock Holmes came along with his brother oh-so long ago. They loved me. They were going to stay, then Sol got into their brains, made them see reason like she's done to you. Oh, she's despicable. So I stole her soul, and she became an ugly arachnid. She hid herself away in a cavern along with her offspring and many mates."

"Sol's much better than you ever will be," Molly whispered.

Sherlock now looked like a giant beetle; his body ended at the waist and started to gradually become more insect-like. At the corners of his mouth were pinchers. He smiled sweetly. "Your precious Sherlock is gone. You're going to join him soon!"

With a screech, he dove off of the edge of the roof. Molly ran over and gazed down, gulping. There was nothing but a fall.

Something grabbed her and pushed her over the edge. She didn't even have time to scream.

And she fell for what felt like an eternity.

Her body hit ground. She shrieked in pain, muffling it with her hand.

Slowly, Molly got to her feet. It was grey, but she was outside. Her surroundings looked like they were drawn in charcoal.

Pain blazed over her ribs as she was struck and thrown into a wall. Something wrapped around her throat and held her there, choking for breath.

It was the Other Sherlock. He grinned madly, giggling softly. "You've always been beautiful," he cooed. Froth was forming at the corners of his mouth. Tears filled Molly's eyes, and she shakily reached for her weapon. Sherlock didn't notice. "You'll be so pretty with buttons for eyes. I'll bring you back to life and stuff you. Won't feel a thing."

Shadows danced at the edges of her sight; her lungs screamed for air. As silent at the wind, she clutched her sword in hand. Sherlock's nose was inches from her. "You never did kiss me properly, though," he growled.

A surge of energy whipped through Molly, and she groaned as she slashed across Sherlock's face. A button clattered to the ground.

Sherlock's agonized screech filled the air, and he stumbled back, dropping Molly to the ground. "Witch! Filth! I've been blinded!" He cried. He turned his button eye onto her. Molly stumbled up, panting and brandishing her weapon. Other Sherlock hissed softly.

"I'll die knowing that I tried to live," she said softly.

Sherlock charged. Immediately he stopped and sniffed the air.

Then a blade lodged in his abdomen. Two others followed. He wailed in pain and turned to the source.

The real Sherlock was carefully examining a small knife. "You know, I find that the real filth here is you and not Miss Hooper, hm?" He sighed. Sherlock expertly threw the knife, and it sliced Other Sherlock's leg.

Molly felt her chest swelling. "You're alive," she whispered tearfully. He had a black eye and a bloodied lip, but he was okay other than that. She rushed over to him happily.

Legs wrapped around her and abruptly tugged her back. She screamed and wrestled against them. Molly was pulled against Other Sherlock's smooth abdomen. She heard real Sherlock give an angry shout.

"Come any nearer, and she dies." A leg wrapped around her neck threateningly.

Molly could see Sherlock clearly. He was looking between her and Other Sherlock, carefully weighing her options. He lowered the knife he was about to throw, and Other Sherlock laughed gleefully.

Again, Molly drew the blade, nodding at Sherlock slightly. He seemed to understand, raising his own blade once again. Other Sherlock giggled.

"You're all so _foolish_ , you humans are. Presented with life, and yet you choose death. I will thoroughly enjoy this." 

The leg around Molly's neck tightened. She shouted and rammed the sword deep into Other Sherlock's stomach as Sherlock drove his knife deep into his neck.

Molly was dropped. She ran to Sherlock and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. Other Sherlock shrieked, stumbled, and fell, exploding into shards of beetle shells. And, for once in a week in that hell, all was silent.

Sherlock looked down at Molly as she gazed up at him. A smile split Molly's cheeks, and she leant up and kissed him swiftly. "I'm...so glad you're okay," she whispered. Her eyes traveled over Sherlock, and she tittered softly. "Visited Sol too, I see."

He nodded. "My weapon when I was a child were throwing knives."

"What was Mycroft's?"

"A spoon."

Molly slapped his shoulder in an admonishing way. "Don't be mean, you git."

"Fine," Sherlock mumbled, "it was an archery set."

Their backdrop was melting away. Alli the spider leapt from Molly's hair and landed on the ground as Alli the human. Sherlock jumped back, brandishing another knife.

Alli huffed. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm going to get you out of here," she muttered, grabbing one of Sherlock's and Molly's hands each. She murmured something, and the wind sped up. 

Around them, the world began to crumble, but they were already on their way to safety.

"What's happening?" Molly asked Alli.

"Its creator is gone. Well, for the time being anyways. It's unstable. In fifty years, the Others will reincarnate and build this world back up again. Until then, this will just be a blank space."

Alli had managed to safely transport all of them to the hallway leading out of the Other World. Molly looked back through the entrance but saw nothing but white. Up ahead was the way out and back to the real world.

"Thank you, Alli."

She grunted. "See you 'round, Molly." She nodded to Sherlock and went in the direction of the spiders' cave where Sol awaited her soul.

Sherlock nudged Molly forward. "Going to let us out, or are we going to wait until something particularly foul arrives?"

Molly nodded, feeling for the key around her neck. She suddenly gasped. "I don't have the key...I must have left it in the Other World...Sherlock, we're _never_ going to get out now," she whispered fearfully. 

A pregnant silence.

"You're kidding."

"Yes, I am." Molly took out the key and unlocked the door, pushing it open.

The detective sighed behind her. "Jesus Christ, Molly," he mumbled.

"Mm, just Molly, thanks," she giggled, and with that, she crawled back into the real world for the first time in a month.  
~*~  
Both of them had been gone for a week in the Other World in their time, but in the real world, they had been missing for a month.

The papers bursted with story after story on how the detective and pathologist arrived back to the world of the living unexpectedly. They were unharmed.

Molly, unsurprisingly, decided it best to move back in with Sherlock. It ended up being permanent.

Mycroft ordered for the house to be destroyed and the remains set on fire. Sherlock and Molly were both delighted to contribute to the destruction of the house.

Sherlock put their spider silk armor and weapons in the very, very back of his closet. They never saw them again.

The first week back from the Other World, Molly had a dream.

She was in the spider cavern again, but now it was deserted, save for her and another woman. The woman smiled comfortingly at Molly.

"Hello, Molly."

Molly bowed. "Sol. Lovely to see you again. You've become human."

Sol nodded. She was dressed in a long, flowing, red and black skirt and a loose grey top. "Alli—that is, my human counterpart—was very happy to merge with me again. I am part human though not fully so," she told Molly.

"Human, all the same."

"Thank you, I appreciate it."

Sol then breathed a sigh. "All of my brethren have scattered. They were afraid of me. Unnatural, they said, having a human as their ruler. Isn't it natural for a human to feel superior over everyone and everything else?" 

Molly shrugged. "Sherlock acts like a king, so I suppose so," she replied breezily.

"You and him will make a lovely family."

The pathologist blushed. "Oh, hush."

Smiling, Sol continued. "Back to business. I'm afraid that I'll never see you again. My brothers and sisters, on the other hand, are forever in your friendship. They won't harm a single hair on your head. The same goes to Sherlock and your children, if you have any. I will always remember you as the woman who brought down an entire world just by your determination. May the skies bless you forever and ever."

Molly wrapped her arms around Sol as she kissed her head. "Thank you for your help. Goodbye."

"You're welcome. Now, wake up. Sherlock has something to ask of you."

Molly jolted in Sherlock's chair, and her eyes fluttered open to see Sherlock shifting on his feet nervously.

"Awake? Good, that's good."

"Sherlock, I just had the strangest dream..." Molly faltered at the small velvet box in his hand. 

"Ah. That. Well..." He cleared his throat and got down on one knee. "I don't find it particularly tasteful to make a speech at a proposal. There's plenty of time at the wedding to do that."

"Oh, Sherlock—"

"Marry me."

Molly smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Of course."

In the corner of her eye, Molly saw a small spider waiting. It bowed quickly and ran away before Molly could get a proper look at it.

It wasn't the strangest thing she'd ever seen.


End file.
